


Anti-kink: Non-con

by ash_carpenter



Series: Anti-kink [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, M/M, Rape Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next cross-posting of anti-kink fic  (series archived <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=ash_carpenter&keyword=Anti-kink&filter=all">here</a> on LJ)! There's a new one on the way too... :)</p>
<p>Not usually the crackiest of kinks, but this time non-con gets a good ruining. </p>
<p>Dean's a generous brother and he's pretty sure Sam's going to love a nice bit of fantasy violation in a dark alleyway. He probably should have told him first though...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anti-kink: Non-con

** Non-con **

In retrospect, Dean was actually a little bummed that his and Sam’s attempt at dominance and submission had been thwarted by ghost sickness. He was also of the considered opinion that it was totally Sam’s fault.

If the bossy, misguided little bitch hadn’t insisted – obviously erroneously – that he was the dom, then the whole thing wouldn’t have happened. 

Sam, of course, might disagree with this infallible logic. However, since Dean wasn’t sharing it out loud, Sam’s opinion was largely irrelevant. He didn’t get a vote.

The thing was, Sam was a control freak. Oh, he pretended to be all reasonable and willing to compromise, but Dean knew better. Dean probably hadn’t improved the situation by pandering to him, but even as a child Sam had been fussy, fastidious and insistent on everything being done precisely to his specification, right down to how he liked his shoes tied.

Bitch.

Anyway, the point was that Sam didn’t like giving up the reins. No, he liked to snatch them up in his big grabby paws and hold them above the heads of people who weren’t freakishly overgrown so that they couldn’t reach them. Much like the TV remote. And, seriously, watching baking shows on the Food Network was not a ‘sick addiction’, and some people just needed to pull their Cro-Magnon head out of their ass.

It was possible that Dean’s metaphor had collapsed under the weight of sad reality.

“What are you glaring at?”

Dean looked up sharply to find Sam staring at him across the diner breakfast table with eyebrows raised and a bemused smirk.

“What? Nothing.”

“What did your hash browns ever do to you?”

Dean rolled his eyes and didn’t dignify that with a response. Hash browns could do no wrong, everyone knew that. They were like golden-fried chunks of awesome. 

Resuming his musing, Dean proposed to himself the motion that what Sam needed was to be forced to give up control for once, so that he could realise – and, more importantly, _admit_ – that he really liked it. Dean seconded the motion, and it was unanimously carried. 

“Okay, what are you _grinning_ at?”

Now Sam had that petulant, annoyed little crease between his eyes, as if he suspected that it was Dean’s specific aim in life to irritate the crap out of him.

“What? Nothing.”

“You’re such a nutjob.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean didn’t feel bad that he was intending to force Sam to submit to him. It wasn’t like he’d ever really hurt him, he knew that Sam trusted him, and they’d always liked a bit of rough play. Hell, Dean had lost count of the number of sparring matches they’d had where they’d both ended up with boners that just wouldn’t quit.

Not great preparation for real life fighting, granted, but it definitely made training more interesting.

Once he’d gotten over the initial shock and agreed to let his big brother do whatever the hell he wanted, Dean was sure that Sam would get off on the whole thing. Hard. 

And the best part? It would be a total surprise! Sam was a stickler for detail, and he’d no doubt appreciate the additional realism of being jumped when he absolutely wasn’t expecting it.

All in all, Dean felt pretty darned smug about his brilliant idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean crept up on Sam, whom he’d sent to the alleyway under false demon-based pretences; the small town was pretty dead at this time of night and they’d get enough privacy behind the quiet bar.

He could tell the moment that Sam realised there was someone close behind him by the way his large frame tensed, and he swiftly made his move.

Pouncing on his brother, shoving him chest-first against the gritty stone wall, he growled, “Don’t move, bit – OOF!”

Dean let out a strangled, breathless cry as an elbow dug deep into his stomach, and then the world tilted alarmingly and pain suddenly slammed through his body as he hit the deck. He found himself looking up at Sam’s snarling face through a blur of colourful stars and tweeting birds.

Sam’s face loomed closer, his expression morphing into perplexity. “Dean?”

“Ngh.”

“What the hell were you doing?! I almost hit you!”

Almost? How typical of him to downplay his own savage attack when he always insisted on describing Dean’s actions with ludicrous hyperbole, like complaining that one little ill-timed Chuck Norris impression had ‘practically broken his jaw’.

“’shbag.”

“What?”

Dean tried to sit up and then groaned and lay back down, saving his energy for informing Sam that he was a douchebag.

“You’re the one who attacked me!”

“I was trying to rape you,” explained Dean.

Sam didn’t really know on what planet that was a reasonable excuse, but Dean was looking at him expectantly, as if he was supposed to say, “Oh! Well, that’s alright then.”

“I…Uh…You know that’s not normal, right?”

“Incest’s not normal,” pointed out Dean helpfully.

“Yeah, but…Okay, fine. But we’re consensually incestuous. Which by definition pretty much means that sneaking up in alleys to rape each other isn’t necessary.”

“I thought it would be fun.”

“For who?”

Dean rolled his eyes and finally managed to drag himself upright with the aid of Sam and the wall. “For you, asshat. But now you’ve ruined it.”

“Sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful and interrupt your generous gift of attacking and violating me in a dark alley.”

“I don’t think you mean that,” replied Dean haughtily, sticking his nose in the air and shaking off Sam’s assistance.

“It’s almost like you can read my mind.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following morning, Sam tried to smooth over Dean’s lingering bad mood with coffee and donuts, wondering vaguely how he’d ended up apologising for not getting raped by his brother.

Dean magnanimously forgave him around lunchtime, when presented with chilli cheese fries, and Sam felt safe enough to broach how the bewildering event had occurred in the first place. 

After a rambling, barely comprehensible rant on Dean’s part, Sam ascertained that the asshat thought he was a closet submissive with a superiority complex, who could only be ‘cured’ by a good, non-consensual humping. 

He also determinedly maintained that this was Sam’s own kink and that he just wouldn’t admit it.

“This is ridiculous!”

“You won’t say that when you’re crying and begging me to stop.”

“What?! That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“You’ll thank me when your ass is bleeding.”

Sam double-face-palmed himself.

“Is this because I wouldn’t let you be the dom?”

“No! I’m trying to…Wait, what you do mean, ‘let’? You don’t ‘let’ me do anything. I graciously permitted you to be the dom because, like always, I’m the one who makes all the sacrifices in our sex life.”

“What, like the huge sacrifice of fucking me against my will?”

“Exactly.”

Sam was really beginning to think that Dean had mental issues. And coming from Hallucination Boy? That was bad. Or maybe Dean was just incurably stupid. 

Still, he didn’t really have any objections in principle (which, now that he thought about it, probably wasn’t altogether normal either). He liked rough sex and he was just as happy with Dean on top as the other way around. He even supposed that it could be kind of fun – you know, now that he’d been clued into the plan rather than just randomly jumped by an unknown assailant behind a dive bar.

Really, it was just another example of poor execution due to bad planning. How typical of Dean ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ Winchester. Sam sighed fondly, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt him to just indulge the idiot a bit.

“Okay, fine. You can rape me.”

Dean threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “Well, you’ve gone and ruined it now!”

“What?”

“Giving me permission totally defeats the object!”

Sam gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right, fine. You’re not allowed to rape me.”

Dean rolled his eyes and got to his feet, reaching for his jacket. “You suck.”

As he headed towards the door, Sam stood up too, arms spread. “Uh, hello? Are we doing this or not.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As it turned out, Sam couldn’t turn off an entire lifetime of training – and of being attacked by nasty supernatural beasties – just on the off-chance that it might be his big brother trying to mount him.

After the third automatic retaliation, resulting in a cracked rib for Dean (and a bloody nose for Sam, which had the unfortunate but amusing side effect of also breaking two of Dean’s fingers), they concluded that the sneak attack was out.

It didn’t help that the one time Sam had managed to suppress his natural instincts, it had turned out that it wasn’t in fact Dean jumping him, but a griffin in heat. The worst part was that Sam hadn’t even noticed that it wasn’t his brother until its tail went down the back of his pants.

Okay, no, maybe the worst part had been that the tail had actually felt kinda nice, but Sam totally wasn’t admitting that.

Anyway, Dean had come to the conclusion that the only thing to do was accost Sam while he was sleeping. That way, not only could he pin him down while he was still groggy, but there was the added bonus that he didn’t have to expend any more effort than rolling over in the middle of the night.

They still got two queens every time, although they didn’t know who they were fooling; their second bed hadn’t been used as anything except a dumping ground for their clothes and weapons for nearly two years now. Dean couldn’t even sleep properly anymore unless Sam was plastered against him, drooling on his neck, hogging the blankets and snuffling in his ear.

(Oh God, Sam was his wife. Or husband. He wasn’t sure which was worse.)

The first time that Dean decided to try a middle-of-the-night ambush, he accidentally drifted off while waiting for Sam to fall asleep and by the time he woke up it was morning and Sam was already singing tunelessly in the shower.

Annoyed by the fact that he’d cock-blocked himself, he determined that setting his cell alarm would be a good idea.

Of course, that would have worked better if the alarm hadn’t woken Sam up first. As a matter of fact, it had _only_ woken Sam up; Dean himself had been awoken by his brother socking him irritably in the ribs and asking why the fuck he’d set his alarm for three in the morning.

Dean hadn’t thought that explaining to Sam that it was his rape alarm would amuse him very much. 

Third time lucky, Dean had dosed himself up with espresso. Finally, as he lay there impatiently twitching and buzzing, Sam fell into a deep, drooly sleep. As an added bonus, he even had a hard-on, because Dean had pretended to be too exhausted to have sex before bed (which had been a bit of a challenging ruse, considering that he was practically bouncing off the walls in his caffeinated state). So Sam was primed and ready to be pounced!

Grinning to himself, Dean enthusiastically made his move.

Perhaps slightly too enthusiastically.

Sam screamed himself into startled wakefulness as he was tackled forcefully, the momentum knocking him straight off the bed. He hit his head on the nightstand on his way to the floor and was then promptly landed on by a buck eighty of horny, energised brother.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” growled Dean, grabbing his flailing arms to pin them to the ground. He leaned down and bit at his mouth before licking forcefully inside it, grinding his hips down against his feebly struggling brother. 

“Dean…?” said Sam, voice slightly slurred. Dean really hoped that it was the last vestiges of sleep, rather than a concussion.

Oh well.

“I said shut up!” Holding both wrists in one hand, he slapped Sam’s face lightly and then reached down to tug impatiently at his sleep pants. “You’re gonna lay there like a good little bitch and take what I give you.”

Sam made a sound of protest and began to struggle, but Dean could tell that it was a pretence. Mostly because Sam’s acting totally sucked.

“No,” he moaned, while spreading his legs wider and canting his hips up for additional friction. His feeble attempts to remove his wrists from Dean’s hold were utterly contemptible – Dean was fairly sure that he’d seen Sam use more force when having a pretend arm-wrestle with a witness’ four year-old daughter on their last case. 

“Well, at least _try_ to get away,” whined Dean.

“What? I am,” replied Sam. Dean really should tell him that the whole wide-eyed thing he did when trying to look innocent actually made him look like a startled pony.

“Right. I know girls kick your ass a lot, but you’re still two-fifty of gigantor, so stop acting like such a pussy!”

“Two-twenty, asshole. And, hey!”

At least he was definitely awake now. And his pupils were the same size as they flashed indignantly, so they probably didn’t need to go to the hospital. 

“It’s no fun if you don’t struggle,” asserted Dean with a predatory grin, resting his full weight on Sam as he finally managed to yank his pants down to mid-thigh. Their hard dicks rubbed together, already slick at the heads.

“Fine,” groaned Sam, ready to do whatever Dean wanted if he could just get laid already. He was really horny (not in any way related to the memory of the griffin tail) and Dean had cock-blocked him all day. He suddenly surged up, breaking free of Dean’s hold on his wrists and flipping them over, pinning his brother in a wrestling hold.

Dean glared at him. “I said _try_ to get away, douchebag! Not actually get away.”

“It’s not my fault you suck, Dean.”

“I wasn’t ready!”

“You’re the worst rapist ever.”

Glowering, Dean headbutted Sam and then took advantage of his loosened hold to roll them over again, coming to rest on top and straddling Sam’s groin. 

Predictably, Sam retaliated, and soon they were actually sparring – in a really handsy, dirty way that involved a lot of grinding their crotches together and quite a bit of licking and biting. They barely noticed that they crashed into the base of the sofa and the bed, knocked over the table, both chairs and a lamp, and also created a sizeable crack in one wall.

Eventually, panting and sweating, exhilarated and incredibly turned on, they tumbled and flailed their way to a standstill, with Sam splayed spread-eagled underneath Dean and both of their pants hanging off their bare feet and trailing along the floor.

“Jesus, can we please just fuck now?” begged Sam, arching his back and rubbing his cock along the groove of Dean’s hip.

“Ngh,” agreed Dean, completely forgetting his whole ‘non-consenting’ plan, fastening his mouth on the bared line of Sam’s throat and yanking his brother’s thighs up around his hips. He grabbed Sam’s ass-cheek and spread him wide, kissing him almost desperately as he slotted tightly against him and nudged his dick at his entrance. They were slippery with sweat and pre-come, and Sam was really hot for it, so Dean knew it wouldn’t hurt him much. 

“Fuck!” yelled Sam as Dean pushed into him with one deep, long stroke, bowing his back off the floor and digging his fingers hard into the musculature of his brother’s back. “God, yes, come on…”

Hand clamped over Sam’s jaw, Dean tilted his face up for a deep kiss and began to thrust forcefully inside him, linking the fingers of his other hand with Sam’s. 

“Yeah…So fuckin’ hot, Sammy,” murmured Dean, rocking in hard and deep, ensuring that he drew his abdomen against Sam’s dick. He angled just right so that he was dragging over Sam’s sweet spot on every stroke, smiling at the way he gasped and writhed with the pleasure.

In Winchester world, fighting was foreplay; they were both highly aroused and knew that the sex wasn’t going to last long. Not that it mattered – fast and dirty was their favourite flavour anyway.

They pawed at each other as they fucked, ass-grabbing and roughly caressing and yanking each other’s heads close for wet, tongue-heavy kisses. Sam almost bruised Dean’s flanks and hips squeezing him so tightly between his strong thighs, and Dean thrust into Sam so hard that he got a wicked case of rug-burn over his back. 

Neither noticed that they were knocking against the nightstand and bed, which were subsequently rapping loudly against the wall. The same as they weren’t quite aware of how vocal they were being in the midst of their rough, filthy sex.

“Gonna come, baby?” purred Dean, licking out the shell of Sam’s ear and biting down on the lobe. “Gonna spray all over me?”

“No, wait,” panted Sam, “I don’t wanna stop…” It just felt too goddamned good.

“I know you’re ready,” teased Dean, twisting his hips. He was barely maintaining his control, holding out for Sam, and he knew his little brother was as far gone as he was. But sometimes Sam liked to try and draw it out when the sex was especially good – even though he never actually managed it.

“No! Not yet…”

Dean chuckled against Sam’s sweat-dampened temple, reaching between their bodies to fist Sam’s cock, causing a spurt of pre-come. “Come on, wanna feel you.”

“No!” denied Sam, trying to fight the rising explosion and reaching between them to prise Dean’s hand off him, smiling into his brother’s neck as he felt Dean’s fist deliberately squeezing and twisting. “Oh, you bastard…” He struggled, head thrashing from side to side as he tried in vain to stop his orgasm crashing through him. “No, no, no, no…”

He was still shouting “no” even as he came, body jerking wildly beneath Dean and face scrunched up with the intense pleasure, looking almost pained as his dick pulsed hot ropes of come between them.

Of course, that was when the cops busted in the door, yelling and pointing their guns at Dean. 

“Get the fuck away from him, asshole!” yelled the guy in the lead, while two others burst in behind him, rushing to flank the two men.

“Woah, hang on!” Dean raised his hands above his head, acutely conscious of the fact that he was still inside Sam. And of the fact that he hadn’t come yet. Son of a bitch!

“What’s going on?” asked Sam, knowing that he should be more worried and annoyed, but feeling far too blissed out from his barely-finished orgasm.

“It’s okay, sir – we’re here to help.” They reached down and roughly grabbed Dean, manhandling him off Sam.

“Wait! Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” demanded Dean, bewildered and extremely irate that his imminent, mind-blowing climax had been ruined.

“Shut up, you rapist scum,” spat one of the officers, and Dean groaned.

“The neighbours called when they heard all the commotion,” explained the guy kneeling beside a flummoxed-looking Sam. “And when we arrived, we could hear what he was doing to you.”

“What? Oh, wait, no…I. Um.” Sam’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he tried to hide his naked, come-splattered body with fluttering hands.

“Listen, officers,” said Dean with a forced, sheepish chuckle. “I can clear this right up.”

“Shut up!” yelled the man in charge, raising his gun threateningly while the officer yanked hard on Dean’s arm. Dean couldn’t help but notice that he was still hard – and bobbing in the wind, in full view of the gawking onlookers assembled in the parking lot.

“No, see, he’s my brother! So, I couldn’t have been raping him.”

“Your _what_?!”

“Uh…boyfriend.” Dean cleared his throat. “Obviously. My completely non-related-by-blood boyfriend. Because, you know, anything else would be sick and wrong.”

Sam crooked his arm over his face, hiding his eyes.

“Besides,” continued Dean quickly to detract attention from his blunder, “Look at the size of him!”

“Victims come in all shapes and sizes,” retorted the officer who was tending to Sam, trying to pull a blanket free from the bed to cover his modesty. “Don’t worry, we’re going to get you help.”

“No, please,” begged Sam, sure he was about to die from humiliation. “I don’t need help.” He reflected on that for a moment. “Well, I probably do need help, but not in the way you think. He didn’t rape me.”

“See!” exclaimed Dean triumphantly. “He consented! I mean, I tried to attack him but he can’t just roll over and take it to save his li…Uh. I’ll shut up now.”

“Good thinking.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they finally got the whole mess squared away, closing the door on the highly unamused cops and what looked like every other motel patron as well as half the town and possibly a few tourists who’d just been passing through, Dean sat wearily on the bed and put his head in his hands. 

He still had Sam’s shirt – which had been the first item to hand when he’d eventually been released by the cops and allowed to cover himself up – wrapped around his waist, as well as his sleep pants hanging off one foot. 

All in all, he made a pretty pathetic figure.

Sam sat next to him, still huddled up in the scratchy motel blanket that the officer had insisted on bundling him up in.

“So…That was a bit embarrassing.”

“Just a little,” agreed Sam. “Maybe we should leave town. Like, nowish.”

“Yeah.”

Seeing that Dean was highly dejected – and no doubt suffering from a violent case of blue balls – Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder and gave him a supportive smile.

“Hey, chin up, man. You totally jumped me in the middle of the night; I was, like, completely taken by surprise.” Seeing that Dean didn’t look particularly cheered up, he thought for a moment and then said brightly, “And, if you like, you can pull us over on some disused track and make me blow you.”

Dean pulled his hands a few inches away from his eyes and shot Sam a cautiously interested look. “Skeevy road head?”

“Totally skeevy. We won’t even pull out of sight of the highway.”

Dean grinned. “Cool. You know, you’re the best fake rape victim ever.”

“Wow. That’s probably the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Dean shoulder-checked him and then leaned in for a kiss. “Yeah, don’t get used to it, princess.”

THE END


End file.
